The Exile
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: One thing that the Cow abhors is an agent holding out on him - there are consequences. In three chapters
1. Chapter 1

_One thing that the Cow abhors is an agent holding out on him - there are consequences._ _In three chapters_

"How come we always use my car?" Bodie asked as they cruised around in the gold Capri. "Oh yeah," he answered his own question, "'cos you've lost your motor!"

"I've never lost a motor!" Doyle snapped back.

Bodie grinned broadly. He enjoyed having a bur to rub under Doyle's skin. "Reported it, 'ave you?" Although Bodie already knew the answer. Cowley would kill him if he found out.

Doyle had been having a boozy night out with his former police colleagues; it was a farewell party for a two of their number. Married to each other, they'd decided to start life again in New Zealand. They were sent off as only their hard-hitting pals could manage. They all noisily staggered off their separate ways at closing time. They knew that they were too drunk to drive - and how embarrassing would that be if they were booked?! - and so took taxis home. Next day, nursing a massive hangover, Doyle dragged himself through the day. He had little to report to Bodie, as he didn't remember quite a bit of the evening. He was relieved to get the day over. Bodie dropped him off at the pub to collect his car once they'd signed off for the day. The car park was empty. Doyle felt a panicked stab in the guts and looked quizzically at his mate; the blank look was shared.

"Are you sure this is the right pub? You were well gone, mate," Bodie asked, beginning to enjoy Doyle's confusion and anxiety.

"I do remember that much," Doyle snapped tetchily.

Now Bodie was really enjoying himself. "Want to report it in?"

Doyle heard the undisguised glee in Bodie's voice and bit back a reply. "Take me home," he ordered, noting that his headache was returning big time.

Once at home Doyle waited for Bodie to disappear round the corner before leaving his flat and heading for a newsagents that had a public phone. Doyle knew that calls to and from his flat were logged at CI5 HQ and there were certain things he didn't want the Cow to know about. He put in a call to one of his drinking mates from the previous evening and said that he thought his car had been stolen. Carlson took down the details and agreed to make discreet enquiries. Doyle contacted him again next day and Carlson told him that, surprisingly, the car hadn't surfaced. Doyle's heart sank. He knew that Bodie would delight at this news. Doyle not mentioning the car again told Bodie all he wanted to know. There was a small part of him though that was concerned. The Cow would skin Doyle alive if he knew. Having one of the pool cars nicked while on assignment was one thing; having it pinched while an agent was carousing till the early hours was something else entirely. Doyle knew he'd have to bite the bullet sooner or later. He reminded himself of his own mantra: thinking about it is worse than doing it. He'd sleep on it.

It was two days later that Doyle plucked up the courage to face the Old Man. He'd arranged to see him while Bodie thought he was playing squash. Doyle stood to attention like a naughty schoolboy being found out and having to face the headmaster. Cowley looked at Doyle sadly once the tale was told.

"And why have you only just come to me now? Did you think that it was going to miraculously appear in CI5's car park?"

That's exactly what Doyle had been hoping for. He said nothing, and Cowley let his agent's upper lip sweat on it for a while.

"Yesterday the car did surface," Cowley began, "I was curious as to how you and the car could be in two separate places at once. Then it occurred to me that you may be holding out on me. There is one thing I abhor above all else - it's an agent holding out on me."

Doyle sensed an axe about to fall. Cowley glared silently at his agent. Since he had nothing left to offer in the way of an explanation or an excuse, Doyle remained silent - very uncomfortably silent - under the headlights of Cowley's basilisk stare.

"I think you may know of the Church Street stakeout from the duty sheets?"

Doyle knew this wasn't a question his boss wanted answering; he also knew now which particular axe was going to fall in his direction. He continued staring into the empty sky from the window above Cowley's head. The changing shapes of the cumulus seemed to bedazzle him. The rhetorical question hung in the air.

"I've had a stakeout there for three weeks now. Howard and Copeland drew the short straw on that one, but I think they're a bit bored with that by now. You can take over there – on your own. You'll have 4 hours relief for sleeping but that's as much as I'll allow."

Doyle was determined not to show any emotion. Howard and Copeland hadn't been unlucky in drawing the short straw; they'd been unlucky in being in charge of an op that went belly-up. There's no rank in CI5 but someone has to be in charge of the troops when several strands come together. Months of hard work had been blown up in the space of an hour. Doyle didn't know the details, only the gossip which grew gorier by the teller. So at least some of the gossip had been right – the pair had been exiled. Now it was Doyle's turn. He was glad that no mention had been made of Bodie. He'd not like to be stuck in a room with him for hours on end while his partner made his feelings clear. This was Doyle's mess-up not his friend's.

"You're still here, Doyle."

"Running all the way, sir." This was a phrase he'd got from Bodie and it seemed to go down well with the Old Man.


	2. Chapter 2

As he returned home to pack a few things, he debated what – if anything – to tell Bodie. He decided to say nothing and let his partner find out for himself. Maybe he'd be the 4-hour relief. He hoped not. The whole situation was embarrassing enough. He wondered why Carlson hadn't told him that the car had turned up.

Unknown to Doyle, Bodie had found the car by chance. It was abandoned down a side street near an ex-girlfriend of his. Bodie had wanted to change the 'ex' to 'current' and so had planned to pay her a visit but, instead, got diverted by the sight of Doyle's motor. In a fit of mischievousness he'd driven it to HQ and left it there to mature into … Well, he would find out soon enough. He was still chuckling in the Mess Room when Wilks had strolled in.

"What's the joke?" he'd asked.

"Oh, just something my girl said. Too complicated to explain."

Fortunately Bodie was then summoned into The Presence before Wilks could ask anything further. Cowley had handed him a not too taxing assignment of interviews for the day and neither mentioned Doyle. He was already persona non grata and Bodie wasn't going to risk his neck by raising the subject.

Since the outcasts were in the same sinking boat, Doyle didn't feel too embarrassed when he turned up for the stake-out and explained why he was their relief.

"I think your exile's over now, lads," he concluded.

There was a joint sigh of relief.

"So how did the car get to HQ?" asked Howard when they'd had their fill of exchanging gossip.

It was a question that Doyle had been grappling with.

"It must have been an agent who drove it in – or a whopping hole in security," Copeland mused.

"Yeah. Cowley'd love that!" retorted his partner.

Doyle was only half listening. A nasty idea was tickling the back of his mind. But first, to business. On asking, Copeland and Howard told Doyle what it was that they were looking at and looking for. 'Bugger all' seemed to be the bottom line on both counts.

"I suppose it could be worse," Doyle grumbled, though none of the agents could easily see how it could be. Copeland and Howard made good their escape.

Doyle made himself comfortable. He half-heartedly looked through cupboards and fridge though he'd brought his own supplies for a few days including some books and magazines. He had no idea how long his exile was going to last for. The quiet hours dragged by. Having no partner to swap shifts with, Doyle had to be constantly at the window, except for toilet breaks and quickly getting something to eat. He had learnt over the years how to stretch and limber while at a window without drawing attention to himself. As the night drew in, Doyle wondered who his relief would be. It was the early hours before anyone turned up. It was Perry, a pretty agent who'd been in the squad for a few years. She had rebuffed any male agent who got too close.

"Hello, Marie. What have you done to upset Father?"

"Oh, I volunteered."

"You must be mad! You can't need the overtime that much."

"Bit of a complicated love life. Prefer to be here."

From her clipped tone, it seemed that she didn't want to talk about it. Doyle had no idea who her boyfriend was – some in the Mess suggested she was gay or frigid, just to soothe their egos – and he didn't press her for details. He gave her a brief update. There wasn't much to tell and he left her to it. Although he'd tried it on when she'd joined the squad, of course, who hadn't, he'd accepted her rejection and didn't ask questions or try again. Perry had a great respect for him.

Doyle popped out for fresh air and a meal at an all-night café in the neighbourhood before returning for a few hours' sleep. He didn't seem to have been asleep long when he felt his shoulder being firmly pushed. He opened one eye.

"Something's up," Perry said and left the bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Doyle was quickly at her side at the window. She was right. The gang they'd been watching – always two, but rarely the same two – had left the building opposite and were hanging about on the pavement as though waiting for someone. They looked jumpy.

"The lights in the flat weren't on. They came down in the dark," Perry explained as he took some photos with a night scope.

Doyle said nothing but continued watching. Eventually a car turned up and whisked them off somewhere. From the binoculars Perry had caught the car registration and relayed it to HQ. There wasn't much more they could do here, but they would stay until further orders. Doyle quietly packed up the abbo in case they were called away suddenly. He told Marie that her four hours were up and she could go now, but she was content to stay now that things had got more interesting. There was a crackle on the R/T. It was Cowley himself. Not for the first time, the agents wondered whether he ever slept.

"Your target has picked up another passenger and is heading north. 2.8 is tracking. Intercept at the armoury if possible."

Cowley was being circumspect in case there were any listeners. Doyle acknowledged, and the pair quietly left their hidey-hole with their sparse belongings. In no time they were on the road and heading towards their armoury. Perry was a competent driver. Doyle manned the radio and kept in touch with their target's route, but they had sailed past CI5's armoury without yet spotting their target. They were now on their way to the motorway. The gang would have to be taken down before they got there. Perry was closing in on 2.8's car.

"We have you in sight now, 2.8," Doyle said after a few more minutes of high-speed driving. "Intercept on A237."

2.8 - Jenkins - acknowledged and peeled off down a side street. Perry kept going in a straight line. The gang had picked up speed. Jenkins would have to increase too if he was to head them off. Doyle kept everyone up to date on their location. At last they got to a suitable crossroads ahead.

"On target!" Doyle announced.

2.8's car seemed to come out of nowhere and headed straight into the path of the gangster's car. They careered off the road together to avoid a collision, and Perry was on their tail in a moment. Their target crashed onto derelict land but their car wasn't built for off-road driving and they soon found a pothole too deep for them. The CI5 cars spun round to avoid the same hazard. Everyone was out and off in a moment. The shooting started immediately. All were hindered by the lack of street lights and the uneven ground. Time and again they would fall over things as they tried to avoid capture or bullets or both. The gang were putting up a good fight. As of one thought, the CI5 agents, well spread out now, were trying to avoid the gang reaching the derelict factory. They wanted to keep them on open ground where they had a chance of seeing them. Doyle had radioed in for backup but it was slow coming. The sniping went on for a while. Perry bagged one and went on ahead for the next target. Doyle saw Jenkins sliding on his belly towards another, but couldn't get a good angle. Doyle shot wide to distract his target, giving Jenkins clear view. He was quick to take advantage. Two down and another two to go.

Suddenly a car was heard roaring towards the action. CI5 were hoping it was the cavalry; the gang were hoping the same thing for their side. In case it was the opposition arriving, CI5 agents renewed their efforts. Then Doyle heard the awful click of a gun running out of ammo; it was Perry. The gang, too, were alerted to the new car's occupants and were backing more and more urgently towards the factory just in case. Doyle took the dangerous strategy of kneeling up to get a better shot; he needed to protect Perry. He wasn't sure if she had spare ammo in her pockets. He felt a bullet sing through his hair as he threw himself back onto the ground. That had been close. He rummaged urgently in his own pockets for spares. Fortunately he had a mag to hand, but he wasn't close enough to his colleague to pass it along. It was clear that the new car was CI5 reinforcements, not extra gang members. Doyle heard gunfire behind him and to his left. He couldn't afford the luxury of looking back to see who his colleague was, but felt relief that they were no longer alone in this.

After several more minutes another of the gang had been killed and the last gave up once his bullets had been exhausted. CI5 got cautiously to their feet and looked around for any further enemies. No-one took further potshots. Jenkins pressed forward, already reaching for his handcuffs. Doyle turned to see who had joined the 'party'. It was Cowley and Bodie. They looked very serious. He looked back over his shoulder to see what they were looking at. A foot was sticking out from the front of one of the cars. A shoe not a boot; a woman's shoe. Doyle went cold and walked numbly towards it. Soon he was at Marie's side, cradling her head. His colleagues looked on. A trail of blood trickled from the side of her mouth.

"Marie," he murmured urgently.

Perry's head moved towards the familiar voice. She tried to smile - then Doyle felt her body relax under his hands. He eased her to the ground and took her pulse. He looked up into the eyes of a troubled Cowley and shook his head.

"Are you injured?" the Controller asked softly.

Doyle shook his head sadly, getting onto his feet. The Cow looked at his other agents, including them in his question. Jenkins admitted to a graze at the hip, but otherwise bullet-free.

Doyle walked slowly and sadly to his car, head bent. He felt an arm slip across his hunched shoulders. He half turned his head and wasn't surprised to find Bodie at his side. He shrugged the arm off angrily. He wasn't ready for company right now.

"It was you who found the motor, wasn't it?" he murmured.

"Guess it was," Bodie confessed.

Suddenly the joke didn't seem funny any more.


End file.
